


Mechanic Panic

by Once a Bard (bossyluigi)



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, M/M, go big or go home for best underrated ship, sexy stuff, sinful sea shit, wet dreams out the wazoo, written for someone but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossyluigi/pseuds/Once%20a%20Bard
Summary: A rough night on the open seas does little to leave unwelcome thoughts behind, especially ones that threaten to uproot the balance of the crew. They were family, to an extent. While not flesh and blood, there was still something incredibly off about the way dreams painted different pictures of those Usopp called friends.This particular evening, keeping his mind from wandering was more difficult and would require something different.
Relationships: Usopp/Vinsmoke Sanji
Kudos: 48





	Mechanic Panic

For a night that felt like any other, it was surprisingly-- off. 

Everything looked the same: dark, waving every now and again when his eyes adjusted, Luffy above him, Sanji off against the wall, Zoro settled on a nearby sofa, Chopper dangling from his hammock-- everything was as it should be. Why was he lying awake then? He was perfectly fine, he was comfortable, he wanted for nothing at that moment-- well, apart from a decent night’s sleep. 

Usopp shuffles, turning onto his side and curling up into the light sheet he’d purchased when last they docked. It does little to keep him warm despite being advertised well at the shop. Suppose that’s to be expected given how cheap it was. He had a little coin, to begin with. Perhaps saving it to purchase a proper blanket would’ve been in his best interest, but why do that when there were countless doo-hickeys and thingy-ma-bobs to bring back to tinker with. 

He’d admit, decisions like that: impulsive and thoughtless, always got the better of him. This wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

Again he tosses and turns, nearly flipping onto his stomach before he settles down once more, eyes scanning the room to the best of their ability. It isn’t often the crew looked at ease. It’s a pretty night, to say the least. No one was fighting, screaming, arguing, grimacing, scowling, or frowning either. Everyone looked so serene. The only one whose expression wasn’t at all surprising was Zoro, and it was mostly because he slept most of the day away. It wasn’t unusual to see him with his eyes closed and not a care in the world running through his mind. 

What shocked him the most was Sanji. Every moment of every day was filled with some kind of activity. One moment he was making breakfast, the next was afternoon tea for the ladies, then lunch, afternoon snacks, dinner, and then prep for the following day. When did he ever get time to himself? It could be argued that getting a good night’s rest was the closest to ‘Sanji time’ but it wasn’t extra time to relax. It was a requirement to get sleep at night. No one thought to give Sanji breaks every now and again? Sure, he’s spent it borderline harassing the ladies, but it was better than standing alone in the kitchen cooking nonstop. Throwing the idea out there when it was appropriate might cut Sanji a bit of slack. It might just be late night thoughts, but in the morning, he might actually consider. 

For now, that’s all they were: late night thoughts. 

Those late-night thoughts were always changing. From simply looking at Sanji to worrying about how he spent his free time, there really was nothing else occupying his thoughts but the cook. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? He thought about everyone from time to time. Tonight just happened to be Sanji’s night. 

There was a lot about him to think about and attempt to unpack. There wasn’t a lot he really shared about himself. They learned a lot from Zeff, but not enough to really understand Sanji and the kind of life he led as a young boy. What did he do under the chef’s supervision? Was he a troublesome kid? Had he done as he was told? Did he have friends? Was he alone? If he was alone as a kid, that must’ve been hard. 

Usopp shuffles again, adjusting himself onto his side to get a better look at the blonde. Did he always look the way he did now? It didn’t take much for him to get himself together in the morning, and after working for nearly the entire day, he still looked somewhat put together when he went to bed. Was it some kind of skill or talent or was he just naturally a presentable person? He probably wasn’t that way as a child. He probably looked shaggy, greasy, unkempt sometimes, just like every other kid. 

What was he like when he got older? If he was anything like Usopp there must’ve been at least one girl that caught his attention. While there really weren’t any instances where he was necessarily interested in Kaya in the ways one might think, he was sure Sanji could say otherwise. To this day, he was constantly doing what he could for whatever pretty face crossed his path. Was he always like that? Even further, was he ever successful with his romantic pursuits? 

What a thought-- Sanji, aboard the Baratie, wooing and maybe even bedding one of the passing ladies. She must’ve been of high standing, maybe even on the wealthier end of the spectrum. 

How would that have gone? He probably would’ve served her something that he had a hand in. His food was already spectacular, imagine how it must taste when there’s a bit of extra love mixed in. That in itself would’ve struck her fancy. On top of that, Sanji was an attractive man. With his cooking abilities and his looks, it goes without saying that he must’ve had at least a few ladies falling for him. 

The more Usopp thought on it, the further his thoughts delved into less than savory territory. Had Sanji ever done anything aboard the Baratie that he wouldn’t be comfortable sharing? If he had, how had he hidden it from Zeff and the rest of the crew? Where do you even handle stuff like that? A closet? No way!! He probably slept in a room with the other crewmates so definitely not there. The closet looked like the most probable choice. Good Christ-- it was… uncomfortable to know that he did stuff like that while surrounded by-- well, whatever was in that closet. 

It was impossible to imagine how he might look with his arms wrapped around the waist of some belle from an island somewhere. Maybe she came from some mainland, with a wealthy set of parents and a closet of delicate silk dresses, much like Kaya. It was also hard to imagine the things he would’ve done to her, still, with imagination as extensive as Usopp's, it wasn’t hard to imagine the actions. Whether or not Sanji’s face was on the figure in question didn’t really matter. 

He could still picture the figure's hands, traveling the length of her back before settling on her hips. He could still vividly see two sets of moistened lips meeting as gently and silently as they could. Fingers that tapped against her curved waist would most likely travel around and rest on either side of her navel, traveling up to just under her chin, lifting her face towards whoever the figure now was. Their kiss would deepen and she’d push the figure back. By now, the figure wore Sanji’s hair and clothes. It was still without his face. The lady’s hands pushed the figure back again, nearly knocking a few of the glass jars from the shelves. A chuckle and a hush came forth from the faceless figure’s lips. A single finger was drawn to his lips and she too found herself laughing. 

With the lady now pinning him in place, the control now belonged to her. One by one, lithe fingers undid each button of his uniform until nothing but a sliver of an undershirt worked to cover the faceless figure’s chest. They carved delicate lines down clothed flesh until settling at a familiar charcoal belt. A few auditory clinks of the buckle echoed through Usopp’s subconscious. His voyeuristic memories were nothing but an illusion, yet painted so vividly. For a moment, he wondered if he really had been in this false setting. 

The woman leans up to kiss a slightly more familiar face. The curves, indents, and jaw are all reminiscent of Sanji, yet still, miss key features signifying his likeness. She continues on, toying with his belt buckle until it soon unhitched at her touch. The release of metal on metal is followed by an obvious unzipping of his uniform pants. The faceless figure acts almost-- indifferent, guiding her lips to his again and pressing back, a bit more vigor in his actions than before. 

Fabric slips from the man’s waist and glides gracefully from thighs to knees and finally resting at his ankles. The short undergarments are dark, much like the ones that Sanji wears, once again capturing a bit of his likeness. Usopp’s bodiless consciousness concentrates on her fingers as they dance the length of elastic around his waist, finally dipping both indexes into the waistband, easing it over the curve of the figure’s pelvis. 

Now, nudity amongst the Strawhat Pirates wasn’t uncommon. There had been instances when they were unafraid to share their natural bodies, but something about this imaginative circumstance has Usopp’s heart pounding against his ribcage. Despite the sight of another man’s genitalia being familiar to him, the situation in which it’s being presented leaves him with a nervous sweat beading on his forehead. By now, what was once a simple event within the theater of his mind had turned into a physical manifestation of-- something. 

He cuts himself off. 

Something felt wrong about imagining his own crewmates in such compromising situations. If they were to find out, what would they think? Even still, he wanted to find out what his mind conducted for him. Perhaps a change of scenery would help him. There was a spot in his factory that he’d set up in case he needed to rest in-between projects. It was the perfect place to settle down and play out the rest of this fantasy. He knew Sanji’s face well enough should he finally decide to address the figure in his waking dream. 

Slowly and silently, he rises from his hammock, touching down on the wooden floor of the lower deck and heading towards the door. A finally glance back and the sleeping form of the blonde chef seals itself into his mind. He’s more than likely save that for later. 

The boards creak beneath each footfall, but it isn’t unlike any other sound as the ship bobbed up and down on the ocean waves. Easily, he was able to dip out of the room and towards his factory. 

Everything was as it was when he left it. Things were tossed about but relatively organized by his own standards. A few boxes had been situated in a corner to form a makeshift sofa of sorts. Bags of gunpowder were fluffed and arranged almost like cushions. He had brought his sheet with him, and once more he was curled up in a room overrun by the shadows of the late evening. A bit of moonlight was all he needed to ease him back into where he last left off. 

The tender fingers of the current maiden in question had slipped between the elastic around the figure’s waist and the pale flesh just below the figure’s midsection. Her intentions were made clear as the elastic eased its way over the faceless figure’s pelvis, snapping back into place once it stretched over the curve of his ass and the form of a rather erect penis. 

Her fingers follow the bottoms as they move downward, gently gliding her fingers and palm along the shaft of the figure’s genitals all the while. There’s an instant when the figure bears a closer resemblance to the visage of the chef, but just as soon as it’s there, it’s disappeared again. 

Once more, the pounding of Usopp’s heart returns with a vengeance, boiling the blood in the tips of his ears and all along his cheeks. Whatever images danced throughout his waking dream had certainly come to haunt him physically as well as mentally. 

As the female figure curls her fingers around the figures testicles, Usopp can’t help but reach his hand down between his legs, shakily dipping a hand into his pants and kneading at his own balls. The faceless figure tenses as she cups him, massaging the tips of her fingers into his skin, occasionally applying pressure in time with Usopp’s own movements. The figure tosses their head back to rest it against one of the beams of wood holding the pantry shelves in place. Again, for a second, there’s a hint of a curl in the figure’s brow. Another detail of Sanji’s likeness makes itself evident. 

With each action she makes, Usopp copies, mimicking the delicate movements of her near porcelain fingers against his own body, replicating the sensations the faceless man must’ve been feeling. 

She soon grows more interested in the arousal lying just above her palm, she shifts her hold to wrap around the base of the figure's penis. Once more, he arcs himself into the shelves as she begins to stroke. One, up to the tip, two, down to the base. Each stroke is long and calculated, reaching every inch of him with both palm and fingers until her rhythmic movements synch with Usopp’s own hand as it works his own arousal. 

One, up to the tip, two, down to the base. As he brings his hand back up, a light drop of self-lubricant drips between his palm and his penis. Without thinking much of it, he draws the pad of his thumb to his tip, wiping up whatever leaks free to wet down the path he intends to continue following. 

The woman tugs a bit with each stroke, occasionally drawing him closer to her, easing her dress up to allow access to the space she’s provided between her thighs. She’s careful about where she guides him, easing his sex between the fleshy curves of her upper legs and pushing herself against him. She’s careful to keep a bit of separation between her own genitals and his, but she rocks, back and forth, back and forth, rubbing him down between her legs. 

As she does so, Usopp continues to rock his hips in time with her. He’s pleasantly lubricated and moves with ease against calloused palms and fingers. A gentle tapping of skin to skin pats in time with the couple lively grinding against each other behind his eyelids. 

His consciousness gazes up from the sexual display beneath the waists of the couple, only to stare into the familiar eyes of the Strawhat chef. The blonde hair rings the same as Sanji’s, only now it hides one of two narrow eyes and a curved brow. A set of militant teeth bite down cautiously on his bottom lip, more than likely to steel himself from causing too much of a commotion. If it weren’t for his cautious actions, Usopp would’ve more than likely forgotten they were in a pantry closet. 

A ragged breath between the two of them fades into a breathy chuckle. The gaze between them connects once more. In unison, they rock, Sanji’s hips guiding his erection in-between her legs before withdrawing enough only to force himself back in again. The lady keeps her hands pressed against his chest, steadying herself as she assists, thrusting her hips forward into his, drawing them back, and then back towards him again. 

Usopp follows along, eyelids squinted shut and a single hand copying the actions of the couple as closely as he can. Every buck of his hips, every uneasy breath, every quiver, and shake, he attributes to the two in his mind, easing him into what he can only assume is a road to climax. 

The image of Sanji in his mind lifts both hands to wrap firmly around the woman’s shoulders. He brings her against him. The thrusting of his hips increases with speed and he, rather violently, forces himself between her legs, again and again, and again. By now Usopp can hear the familiarity in his voice. It’s uncanny how compelling the noises he makes are, despite making no actual noises outside of Usopp’s own thoughts. 

A few final thrusts couple with a few final strokes of Usopp’s hand. He can feel it, the pulse of his heart against his groin. The muscles tighten in his gut and, simultaneously, a sweet release of orgasmic sensations rock his body back into gunpowder bags. From within his palm, the swelling of his penis pulsates in time with the figure of Sanji. While the figure of Sanji climaxes into the warmth of the woman’s thighs, Usopp notes the warmth of his own ejaculate running down his knuckles. 

There comes a moment of silence, realization at the series of events that transpired just then before he eases his eyes open. He’s faced with his empty factory. The moon no longer peeked in at him through the porthole, but its light still spilled in, albeit less than before. If anything, he feels guilty most of all. This was something he would never speak of. 

A nearby rag serves well to clean him up for the meantime. He’d do a thorough job of washing himself up when the morning comes. Hopefully, his decision for an early wash wouldn’t cause too much of a suspicion. Covering things up wasn’t his forte, but he’d cross whatever bridge he needed to when he met it. For now, his mind and body were both exhausted. 

Would he see that woman again in his dreams? Would Sanji serve as the instigator of his own desire for sexual touch or would he play a role as Usopp’s mental muse? There was far too much to unpack for his liking. Instead, he wandered his way back to the sleeping quarters, sheet in hand, and crawled back up into his hammock. There was still a fair bit of time before morning and whatever sleep he was able to get until the morning's first light would be well appreciated. 

So long as he was the only one occupying his dreams this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was written as a gift for someone because we couldn't find any Usopp and Sanji fics that were up our alley so-- as they always say: create the content you want to see in the world. Here you are, sinful sea shit.


End file.
